


Revelation

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood, Dreams and Nightmares, Nightmares, that guilty conscience of yours is a hell of a thing Solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: As the Inquisition settles into Skyhold, Solas continues to strive towards his ultimate goal - no matter who it will destroy in the long run.But the more time he spends with these people, withher- the more uneasy his conscience grows.





	

Solas dipped his quill, trying to focus on his writing despite the noise above him. The rotunda was being repaired, the upper portion being converted into an improvised rookery.

He thought the choice of renovation was strange, but kept that opinion to himself.

The Inquisition was slowly making a home for themselves in Skyhold. No one had argued when he quietly laid claim to this room as his study and he was thankful for it. Despite the human hands behind its construction, the Ferelden architect responsible for building Skyhold had been true to his intentions to recreate as much of the original structure as he could. It was not the Tarasyl’an Te’las he’d once called his own - but even the faint familiarity offered some sense of comfort.

The note he was writing would appear inconsequential to any who happened upon it. It read as little more than private observances, most likely intended for a personal log.

_Despite reaching our objectives in Redcliffe, those who live there still suffer in the aftermath of the rebel mages’s disruption. Many are displaced, lacking in food or shelter, unclear on where they should turn._

_I hope for their sakes, someone might lend a hand to the elves of Redcliffe. Perhaps with some assistance, they may find a new sense of purpose in an otherwise chaotic landscape._

He knew his meaning would be more than clear to his intended audience, once he surreptitiously passed the message along. Go to Redcliffe. Bring supplies. There may be opportunities for recruitment.

Despite the obstacle Corypheus was proving to be, Solas’s objectives had not changed. Those who followed him still required instruction. Progress had to be made towards their goal, even though he could not oversee it directly.

The Veil would be removed and the world set right again. It was only a matter of when.

Solas continued writing. _The losses suffered at Haven were not insignificant - yet I still have faith that the Inquisition is where I should remain for the time being. This organization is the best chance we currently have of parting Corypheus from the orb he carries. My confidence is only bolstered by their recently formalized choice of Inquisitor. We would not have made it this far without Isii._

Only when his fingers paused did he realize with some small surprise that he’d written her name. He’d referred to her before in his reports. The Herald. Lavellan. The Dalish elf, when he was feeling less favorable. But never as Isii.

He could not help but think of her then. The memory of Haven was still too fresh, too recent, too immediate. He could still remember the finer details of his panic, the sickly quality of his grief when it appeared she had sacrificed herself to save them. He remembered the feel of her fingers laced with his, so cold against his skin, gripping him tightly as he tried to warm her with his magic. She’d smiled at him through shivering breaths, rasping whispered phrases in Elvhen and he no longer cared whether or not she pronounced them correctly. She was alive, having twice cheated death in the short amount of time he’d known her. She was so much more than he could have ever predicted…

Solas pushed the thought aside, clearing his throat as he dipped into the inkwell once more.

He had work to do.

The candle by his side burned ever lower, wax spilling over as he continued to write, the shape of each letter scratching rhythmically across the parchment. The hammering above finally ceased and the other noises grew dim until they too fell silent.

The stillness that followed was broken by a quiet voice, barely above a whisper as it murmured a confession.

“I killed them.”

Solas glanced up from his desk. The spirit - Compassion, though he responded to the name Cole- stood before him, the brim of his hat casting a heavy shadow over his face. Solas straightened in his seat. “Who did you hurt?” he asked calmly.

“The mages,” the spirit answered. “The ones in the Spire. I killed them. I hurt them.”

Solas let out a slow breath, his poised hand returning quill to paper. “We have been over this before.”

“I wanted to do it,” Cole said, a hushed sense of horror in his tone. “I thought I was helping them. Doing the right thing… They were suffering. They were hurt. I thought…” His hand slipped behind his back, fingers tight around the hilt of his dagger as he drew it forward, cradling it with a mixture of reverence and repulsion as he did so. “I thought this was the only way to stop it. Make it quick. Blood on my hands, between my fingers, fearful, fearsome, but I’ll make everything right in the end.” He swallowed hard, frowning down at the blade. “While they choked and struggled… I thought I was saving them.”

“Your nature became compromised by the suffering you witnessed,” Solas explained reassuringly. “The world beyond the Fade is far more complex than what you are used to. The shock you experienced twisted your intent into something cruel rather than kind. In truth, there is no distinct line between spirit or demon, good or evil. You found yourself caught in between.”

Solas listened while the spirit mimicked the cadence of his own voice, repeating back to him words he had said mere days earlier. “While the world may exert a pull in one direction or another, the choice is ultimately yours.”

Solas nodded. “That is correct.”

Cole stared down at the dagger, his head tilting in contemplation. “And what will you choose, Solas?” he asked, a sudden hard edge to his voice.

The elf frowned, peering at him. “Pardon?”

“You look at her and see yourself,” Cole continued. “Questioning. Fascinated. Wanting more, yearning to learn, to grow, to see and feel beyond the boundaries. Like you when you were young, before the world became sharp and cutting and bitter, when everything became a game that no one could hope to win. Before the lies, the murder, the betrayal. Before you watched them take the world by the throat and threaten to snap its neck-”

“Cole-” He tried to stop him, his tone firm, uneasy as the spirit stared at him. Cole’s eyes, usually so soft and sad and full of sympathy, narrowed harshly.

 _“She’s real,”_ he said, stressing each syllable, the sound sinking low into the pit of Solas’s stomach. “They’re _all_ real. You don’t want to see it. _But you do._ ”

Solas’s mouth felt dry, his tongue thick as he swallowed, shaking his head. “I’m not having this conversation,” he said quickly, bracing himself against the desk. In his haste to rise from his seat, he knocked over the inkwell, sending a river of thick, sickly sweet liquid overtop his papers. To Solas’s horror and confusion, he could plainly see it was not ink but blood - fresh red blood pouring out as if an artery had been severed, rushing over his desk, trickling down onto the floor, onto his lap. It was everywhere, slickening his palms, soaking into the sleeves of his tunic, wetting the soles of his feet as he recoiled, knocking his chair over in the process, the room echoing with the hard slam of wood against stone.

“Make it quick,” the spirit repeated and yet his voice was no longer Cole’s. Solas flinched in surprise as he found the spirit’s shape had changed, mirroring him, Solas’s own cold blue eyes glaring at him from across the room, his own lips shaping the words, reciting them with his own voice. “Blood on my hands, between my fingers, but I'll make everything right in the end…I thought I was saving them...”

Solas awoke with a start, jerking so violently that he nearly slammed the side of his face into the edge of his desk. The hand on his shoulder quickly recoiled.

It took Solas a moment to get his bearings. He’d fallen asleep at his desk - the candle long since burned out, his body slumped forward, his head having nodded into the crook of his arm. The inkwell was still in place where he’d left it, though there was a stain on one parchment where his quill had fallen by the wayside. He looked up to find Cole standing behind him, the spirit shrinking away slightly. “Are you alright?” the boy asked, his head tilting curiously. “You were hurting… I heard it from the tavern. You were very loud,” he added by way of an explanation.

Solas scrubbed his hand over his jaw, stilling the trembling in his fingers. “Yes,” he answered in a whisper before clearing his throat. “Yes, I am fine. It was...” His brow furrowed, the eeriness of his vision still leaving him unnerved.

“A bad dream?” Cole asked. Solas studied his face for a moment, uncertain. The question was genuine and the look of concern on the spirit’s face was innocent enough. The Cole he’d encountered was of his own making - conjured by the Fade by his own unconscious doing.

“Yes,” he repeated. “I… must have dozed off.” He slowly pushed himself to his feet, his gaze unsettled as he quickly gathered the papers from his desk. “I...Thank you for your concern, Cole. I will see myself to my room.”

The spirit did not move to follow him as Solas slipped into the shadows, exiting the rotunda.

**Author's Note:**

> Working on new chapters and updates - wrote this as a bit of a warmup piece. Hope you liked it!


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